My Corner of the Earth

Sometimes I forget exactly what it is I have to be thankful for, what I appreciate in my life.  Sometimes I forget what an extraordinary experience it is to live on this earth, even just an ordinary life.

I do not live in an area that is considered dramatic or spectacular, though the Flint Hills are quietly beautiful in their final dying gasp as the last of the tall grass prairie.  To quote a prairie aficionado, Willa Cather, "Anybody can love the mountains.  It takes a soul to love the prairie."

Enjoy these few photos of the hundreds I have taken over the 25 years I have lived in my quiet little corner of Earth.  They were mostly taken within a couple of miles or less from my front door.

Peace on Earth and Good Will to (some) men.  From the old lady, the supreme beings,

and the German Shepherds of Spiritcreek.

Early summer when everything is green and it is easy to believe in a heaven.

A genuine waterfall.  

When every single thing you see on the prairie is green, a splash of color is exciting!

No one knows why these are called Missouri Primroses.  Unfortunate, indeed, but one of my favorite wild flowers.  I do not see them at roadside now in the spring - I assume from the herbicides dumped and sprayed, another act of killing the prairie.   

The Lesser Supreme Being, Wally, when he was younger - before he became the old white horse he is now.

It would not be Kansas without the remnants of the stone fences.  This was taken a few miles from home.

Wild swans I happened upon a while ago, just up the road.  They are so large that they made the pond appear small. 

The summer shade over Snokomo Creek

I do not know the secret of taking a photo of distance.  This is an expanse of Wabaunsee County where you can see for likely 20 miles, at least. If heaven is this simply beautiful - assuming I end up there - I will be happy, and count myself as blessed.

No photo montage of Kansas can be complete without the State Art Forms - bullet holes, barbed wire and horse shoes.

Snow has to be very, very deep to cover the tall grass.  Luckily for me, I have not had to endure a winter when the snow is deeper than the grass is tall.

Upland Plover, also known as a large sandpiper.

I cannot tell what birds these are but who cares?  They were so cute together on these twigs.

A typical Kansas sunset.  

The main gate to my little pasture the morning after the ice storm.

It was not yet built but this is a typical Kansas sunrise from the site of the future house.

The wild strawberries that grow on the top of the little hill where the barn is.  Even after the horses' hooves have chopped up the soil and churned the mud all winter, these little plants grow every spring.  I see them every single day but in 25 years I have yet to harvest a single wild strawberry. Other strawberry lovers get to them first.

Sometimes fall is a spectacle of brilliance in the Flint Hills!

This is the pond that I secretly call the sacred pond.  It is on the corner from my house.  Coming home from work day after day after, I welcomed the beautiful sight of this little pool of water reflecting the general splendor of the Kansas sunsets. For many years there was a heron who lived in this pond.  I assume the fish and frogs kept it there.  A terrible draught caused the pond to dry entirely up and since then there has been no heron.

Permian Sea fossils found in the gravel of my little creek and a very large feather - all gifts.

The russet color of the big blue stem gives the prairie life even in the dead of winter. 

More color from the prairie plants and grasses.

 

The sacred pond frozen in winter.  My house is tucked down in the creek, out of sight, at the far right end of the trees. 

Kansas, Cattle and Thunderstorms.   

When it rains hard.  This is draining into the deep ravine next to my drive.

A beautiful thunderstorm building in the southeast, taken from my pasture.

It would not be Kansas without a rainbow!

A sight that I never though I would see in Kansas in my lifetime, but this was taken less than a mile from my house! 

You did not think I would forget to include sunflowers!

Good prairie management includes spring burning.

The Supreme Being, Ginger, the beautiful little red Quarter Horse, a bossy mare.  I love her so!

In the spring, the redbuds light up my front door.

The sweetest dog, my Mattie.  She sits like this, so proper!

The brattiest German Shepherd I have ever had in my life!  She can be sweet but she assumes she is the supreme being around here.  Neither Ginger nor I agree. 

The beginning of the end of the prairies, the symbol of the destruction of the bison and the old buffalo hunters' way of life.  It is a deadly device that ushered in a new world view, one of dominion, individual ownership, and subjugation of the natural world.  I count myself lucky to be here for the finale.  

Not the Queen of England

 Long-time readers may well recall the dismal customer service routinely experienced at a Topeka farm store over the years.  In fact, employees who exhibited cheerful, helpful attitudes never lasted more than a few weeks - ever. I always thought the employees must have worked for a bastard of a manager.  No one worked there for very long.  There was never anyone who seemed to last even a full year- not even the most disinterested, surly employees who seemed to be the favorite hires.

Some things in life simply are, and because that particular farm store was so conveniently located, I continued to take my business there.  The employees were only borderline rude and if I genuinely needed help, it only took about ten minutes to track down someone.  Since I am not the Queen of England, after all, it was tolerable.  At least I always knew what to expect.

Saturday I needed salt and mineral blocks, dog food, and equine fly spray.  (I also knew they would have baby chicks, my favorite time of the year!) The place was hopping!  I only recently started going into stores again, so all the hustle and bustle is almost overwhelming.  There were so many customers that all the flat bed carts were in use.  I had to use a deep, grocery-type cart.

I trundled along, getting my supplies by rote, especially after they only had ducklings left - very disappointing.  (Ducks are cute little critters, but they are not chicks!)  The American Stockman mineral blocks weigh 50 pounds apiece.  I can still easily pick them up but lifting them above my waist is a struggle.  I slid one block under the cart, trying to figure out if the second one would also fit under there, when a nice woman happened by, only a few things on her flatbed cart.  She saw me shuffling the blocks and asked if I would like to trade carts with her!  I readily agreed, thanking her very sincerely. 

I no longer walk with a cane, but I must appear to be around 100 years old, or something, because often people offer unsolicited help.  This kindness happened in the long depressed, surly atmosphere of the farm store!  A minor miracle that simply made my day.  

But, it gets better!

Only one cashier when I got to the front of the store but I am patient.  Suddenly, out of nowhere, farm store employees appeared.  A young gal looked specifically at me, calling me to her register.  What's this new devilry?!  She was so pleasant, speedy, knowledgeable - and apparently a manager as she also directed several other employees while I was paying.  She asked if I wanted to sign up for an award card since they are now a different company.  I did not catch the name but it was news to me.  

And, even better!

I was making my way out of the store, threading through incoming customers when the heavily laden cart smashed into the edge of the door!  I was horrified that I had broken the door but there was an employee right behind me, and I apologized.  He assured me that it was not the first time that day people had crashed into the door.  When I saw that it was not broken, I quickly got out of the way of all the folks coming and going.

I made it to my car, and was debating whether to put my purse inside first before I unloaded the cart when a man's arm appeared reaching over my purse.  Oh my god, I was getting mugged at the farm store!! I spun around into the smiling face of the employee who had fixed the door.  He had followed me to help load my car, scaring the bejeezus out of me!  I started laughing, mainly happy that I was not a mugging victim - but help to load my car that I did not have to ask for?  Witchcraft!  Are you kidding me?  Happy, helpful, energetic employees?!  An Easter miracle!

That Time of Year Again

I am hitting a milestone birthday this month.  It is a big one.  I am officially entering "the last part of the day", as Bob Dylan terms it.  Each passing year it is apparent that I have much to be thankful for, including good health, and good relationships, and good friends, and good neighbors. There is a steadily rising tide of news regarding people I have known for decades, already gone or soon to be leaving.  I know I am old but I still wonder who is the old woman in the mirror, though I have had more than enough time to acclimate to being an old human being. 

I have noticed many changes in the world at large.  Young people cannot read my cursive writing, and they are not children but adults.  A person's handwriting is as distinctive as their personality, instantly recognizable. I lament an art that was lost in so few years!  

Young people cannot pronounce my given name.  It stumps them.  They erroneously try to pronounce the first syllable with a soft "C".  It was once a very easy name for people to recognize and say correctly. It is remarkable that our language changed so in such a short time.

Often I am surprised by the kindness of young strangers willing to help me carry a large bag of dog food, or load heavy items into my car.  I graciously turn down their offers because if it is something I can still do, it is a small victory against the inevitable decline.  It is always such a pleasant experience when someone offers to help, though.  I am grateful for their kindness and concern.

On Thanksgiving this year, I knew beyond a shadow of doubt that the tide has turned irrevocably for me.  I was opening a container of gravy when it somehow slipped out of my hands.  It spilled that precious golden nectar down the cupboard and onto the floor, much to everyone's dismay!  Before I could even think what to do, both of my adult children immediately set to cleaning up the mess. I am no longer the de facto supreme ruler of this family.  I am no longer The Mom. My children quite naturally cooperated, managing the minor crisis, male and female.  I felt it quite deeply, minor as it was.  I do not have to take care of everything all the time now.  My family is in capable hands.

It might be difficult to see through the craziness in the world right now, but the young people coming up are going to be okay.  They grew up in a world different than that of my baby boomer generation.  A million things that are still fresh in my mind they did not experience and have no frame of reference.  Of course the world changes.  It changes every single moment.  I try to stay up on things simply because I do not want to be left too far behind, but with each passing year it matters less.  

The newest and best television and movies display an inclusive world.  Each of the various Tolkien races in The Rings of Power contain human actors of every race. The Walking Dead, an apocalyptic science fiction series that aired for 11 seasons, showcased women warriors every bit as capable, heroic and brave as the men, sometimes even more than the men. In my lifetime, the first woman I saw on the screen that did not fall off her high heels was Princess Leah! Our entertainment has changed to be as  inclusive as real life.  A grand achievement!

Though climate change still engenders an enormous amount of angry deniers, the earth herself is delivering the message to each human personally.  Quite soon there will be no argument left, no possible or plausible denial,  It will be life and death for millions of people. Humans will either change or perish.  It is simple. Other countries are far ahead of the USA, countries where humans make their decisions, not corporations. 

Maybe we will wake up but maybe we will argue with ourselves until it is too late.  After all the wonderful progressive science, education, industry and social advancement America achieved in my life, we have lately fallen into polarized hate, anger and ignorant denial, crazy conspiracy theories, and tragic domestic gun violence.  It is shocking. It is heartbreaking.  I think it is ultimately life as usual.  There is always something on this earth that presents true challenge and requires courage and sacrifice. 

For me personally, it is hardest to admit there are things that I can no longer physically do.  (Well, I can probably do anything at least ONCE more!)  I sometimes dream I am on the highway, riding my Harley effortlessly across all the miles. And when I wake up, I am happy.  I cannot dance, but I can watch young people from all over the world dancing on TikTok - the next best thing!  I can no longer walk up the front steps carrying five gallon water jugs, so I bought three gallon water jugs.  Some day I will not be able to walk those up the steps, either.  I will think of something when I get to that. 

So, it will soon be my birthday and then Christmas, and the New Year and so on and so fourth. As my old confidant, Bob Dylan says: "I feel a change coming on, and the fourth part of the day is already gone."   

In time honored fashion: 

Wishing peace on earth and goodwill toward (some) men - 
from the Crazy Woman, the Supreme Beings, and the wolf dogs of Spiritcreek Farm.

My family (and son's Cane Corso)

Daughter and her Red Heeler

My Hell Hounds

Supreme Being

Wally Lama

Fixin' to Get Ready

I celebrated another birthday last month.  It is not a big (or even a little) deal at my age.  Still, I always recall the birthday cakes my mother made for me.  One year it was a pink birthday cake decorated with a ballerina, and the gift of a pink chenille bedspread with a ballerina on it, too.  (This may have been inspired by an entirely unexpected, out-of-character but deadly serious imitation of a prima ballerina pirouetting through the living room for the benefit of my Aunt Mary.) 

Another birthday is always a good time to stop for a minute and take stock.  I paused long enough to consider I am old and living in a state filled with assholes who refuse to take the covid virus seriously or even wear a mask.  ('Murica!)  I am very careful but it is possible that despite my best precautions, that virus, carried by red necked, gun-totin', truck drivin', maskless "patriots", could be my abrupt and unexpected end.  (I would sure hate it if the worst of red state Kansas finally got the best of me!  I have been resisting them my entire life.) 

After a brief search regarding a tiny local cemetery, I discovered some of my neighbors are the trustees.  So, on the last day of 2020, I chose my final resting place a few miles from my house.  I already have the deed!  So, unless something improbable happens and I end up living in a cliffside cabin facing the mighty Pacific, I will most likely spend the rest of my days in good ol' Kansas, my ashes returned to the soil that once belonged to the old buffalo hunters.  I have a Native American name and was told that when the time comes, they will see me coming and joyously welcome me to their fire.  That is good enough for me.  

In a few days I will be signing all the paperwork of my last will and testament.  It is remarkably simple.  As I read through it, I thought attorneys are the best snake oil salesmen to ever arise from the evil dust of this old earth.  A score of  pages to say my kids split everything 50/50 and whatever they decide is fine.  Whatever.  It feels good to have most of the big issues settled, and I did learn a few things.  While you are alive, you can title a paid-off car to anyone you choose.  At your demise, it automatically becomes the designated person's property with zero fuss.  

I do not have a sense of foreboding or doom, or feel that the end might be near.  Rather I just feel I should get things lined out and be done with it.  On a typical bright and windy Kansas day, I selected my cemetery plot.  It was the last day of 2020.  When I woke up in 2021, I felt like a real adult.  

My probable view of eternity.  When I found this photo, I had already titled it "The Way Home".  Cool.

 

The Still Point

Impermanence. The emptiness of all things is what Buddhism speaks to. It is a very simple concept: nothing is permanent, so do not get too attached.

Buddhist philosophy offers very simple concepts but they are very difficult to truly grasp. My instructor says of these concepts, "Quite subtle." Understatement! I am slowly catching on to these subtle ideas. It takes awhile to shift the gears in a Westernized brain. When His Holiness the Dalai Lama speaks, the words he uses are simple, declarative, unadorned. To a Western mind, he sounds almost naive when he speaks of loving kindness as the solution to most ills in the world. Though he has often referred to himself as a simple Tibetan monk, which is true, he also possesses an amazing mind that understands and appreciates modern science, including quantum physics. The Tibetans, in their centuries of contemplative study of the nature of consciousness, long ago arrived at the same conclusions the Western theoretical physicists are coming to now regarding the nature of reality. In our Western arrogance and in our Western ignorance, this seems entirely impossible. Try to talk to a PhD about this and you will see what I mean. It is unthinkable to them that "simple" Buddhist monks could plumb the depth of reality and understand what our science is just now theorizing.

The more I meditate and the more I learn of the Buddhist conclusions regarding the nature of consciousness, the more excited I am, but there is as much dogma and mythology in Buddhism as there are in all other religions. Dogma and myth are antithesis to my sense of spirituality. I left Christianity behind when I recognized the vast, deep well of hypocrisy and judgemental horseshit that exists between the simple message Christ taught to "love others as you love yourself" and the way Christians use their religion to exclude and judge and harm other human beings for being gay, or fallible, or flawed, or simply human. I recently came upon this quote from Sister Joan Chittister, "Then we make our religions God and our God puny. Then we make religion dangerous." Amen. His Holiness the Dalai Lama himself has encouraged people to learn mediation apart from the Buddhist philosophy. He knows the human benefit of meditation for all physical, emotional, mental and spiritual aspects. It is helpful and sorely needed in these generally wretched times.

As I have learned meditation I have naturally grown interested in what these "simple" Buddhist monks have to say. I am particularly drawn to Tibetan Buddhism. I recently read a remarkable book written by a young Tibetan born in exile. In Love with the World by Yongey Mingur Rinpoche. It is a very simply written book, easily read in a couple of hours. Like all things concerning Tibetan Buddhism, that simplicity contains knowledge and ideas that shift the foundation of your world once you begin to consider. Mingur Rinpoche discusses the idea of pauses between one thing and the next, a continual stream of "becoming" throughout our entire lives and beyond. The Buddhists call it the "bardo of becoming", a state of becoming something else, a stage in-between this and that. He says we need not wait until we physically die to understand this.

"It can also be understood to mean "this very moment". The nowness of this moment is the continual suspension (or pause) in-between our transitory experiences, both temporal and spatial, such as the tiny halt that exists between this breath and the next; or the arising and fading of this thought and the next. The interval can also be experienced as the in-between of two objects: the gap between two trees or two cars—the space that provides definition; or we can understand this interval as the emptiness that allows us to see form. Actually, everything is in-between. However minuscule the interval might be, it always exists, and it is always bracketed. Everything in the whole world system exists in-between something else. From this perspective, the exclusive reference of intermediate to the state between death and rebirth emerges as the prototype for transitions that occur within this life cycle; the bardo stages then illuminate how these iconic death-to-life transitions emerge in everyday experience." (Mingyur Rinpoche, Yongey. In Love with the World (pp. 50-51). Random House Publishing Group. Kindle Edition)

Every single thing we do in life is a lesson, a practice run, an exercise in the impermanence of everything - a day, a situation, a relationship, a flower, a breath, a dream, our physical lives. We can practice continually to be in the moment, to recognize the still point - that pause between the pendulum swing. I think often of this. Right now, in many lives around the world, we are forced into an extended still point as we wait for the covid-19 virus to pass us by. Thousands have passed into a different still point - whether they live or die. And many have already left this world.

The skies are almost silent without the never-ending drone of air traffic. The atmosphere is clearing of air pollution. The highways are empty of 80% of normal traffic. The schools are closed. The streets of many cities are quiet. It is a rather unique "war". Our infrastructure still stands. We will not have to rebuild homes or roads or repair utilities when this finally concludes. It is more a war of choices, of actions, of choosing to care for one another. There are many possibilities available in this still point, in this moment of quiet. The world has changed. We will not notice much right away. A twig is bent on a tree but the true extent is not evident until many years later when the limb has grown in an altogether different direction. I hope we choose wisely for ourselves and our planet.

Mysteries

The flaming sunset

Life is full of mysterious things. We explain them with science so they seem commonplace and routine. If you are like me, sometimes you begin to contemplate ordinary things until they appear extraordinary. I most often succeed in merely confusing myself. Sometimes, though, I scare myself.

I blame my mother for the first time I scared myself. She insisted I go to bed at 8 o'clock every night whether I was tired or not. It was torture to lay in bed wide awake. The lights had to be off and there was no excuse to get up, to make any noise, or complain. I discovered I could read by the dim single light bulb on in the living room if I laid on the end of my bed with my head hanging over, angling the book above me to catch as much light as possible. I read a lot of library books this way! But the neck, arms and eyes could only hold out so long. Sometimes my mother would go to bed early leaving the house in darkness, making it impossible to read. Then I would "think about" things, simply because I had no other option until blessed sleep arrived.

I do not know what led up to this little exercise, but I imagined I was above my bed looking down on myself. Then above the house looking down on the roof. Then the town, the state of Kansas, which looked remarkably like the map in my text books. Then the United States. Then I was out in space viewing the earth below me, which looked a lot like the globes we had in school. While I was out in space, I decided to take a little glance around. Suddenly facing the cold black infinity scared me so badly I fell back into my body on the bed and never tried that again. But I continued to amuse myself "thinking about" things, and I still do.

I recently burned a brush pile in the corral. Of course, I waited until the countryside was dry and flammable to do this, so I could not leave the fire unattended. It was several long hours of silent contemplation. None of the animals were interested in keeping vigil with me so I had a wonderful opportunity to "think about" all manner of things.

A common meditation exercise is to meditate by being aware of being aware. For the longest time, that was too complicated for me to understand. Eventually I realized it was simply paying attention to whatever was in my awareness. It is very simple, but like so many of these meditation practices and lessons, it may be simple but exceedingly difficult to accomplish or to understand. Since I was sitting and staring at the fire anyway, I might as well meditate. I do not think it counts as true meditation but soon enough the inevitable questions of the nature of fire came into in my mind. I know that fire is a rapid oxidation process that releases heat and light, a transformation of energy from one form to another. I wondered why human beings were created from combustible materials. There must be a reason. I know how we are combustible but I do not know why we are combustible. Wouldn't the Creator have figured out a safer way for us to exist in these bodies, especially since fire is exceedingly common in our dimension? He figured out the best way for ice to freeze in rivers and ponds in order to allow the aquatic life to survive through the winter but He left in one mystery. If you fill ice cube trays with hot water before placing them in the into the freezer, it freezes much more rapidly than cold water. This fact was disputed by an entire department full of engineers so the youngest, prettiest secretary filled two trays - one with cold water and one with hot - and proved this is true. As far as I know it is still a mystery to science. Did the Creator play a little joke on us, knowing eventually there would be a world full of hot shot engineers who would mock the women in their office? Possibly.

I digress. As I was staring into the flames, I was thinking of the true nature of our combustible bodies and what may be left behind after my time is up. I was deeply contemplating the true nature of our physical bodies - 60% water - more space than matter at the atomic level - and if that is all we are, then why doesn't everyone look like their race's equivalent of Jason Mamoa or Sophie Vergara? If we are all the same physical ingredients, then why are our bodies so different? Again, I know how this happens, but I do not know why it is designed this way.

I am supposed to come to some understanding of the impermanent nature of our existence by meditating. I am assured that it is possible to still and discipline the mind well enough that serious inquiry into the authentic nature of existence will lead to enlightenment. The Tibetans are not overly optimistic on how quickly a person can gain this knowledge: countless eons. Soooo... I have plenty of time to sit around watching the fire burn.

After some time watching the flames I was, in fact, still. It was mesmerizing to let my thoughts gently float on the edge of understanding the nature of fire. Some things are beyond words. As the entire mass of limbs reduced to red hot coals, some of the larger limbs were burning with an almost invisible flame. Had it been night, I could have seen the flames close to the charred logs, but it was bright afternoon. I could only see the energy distortions as the flames moved silently in the intense heat of the coals. The question came again and again, not in words but in something beyond language - how is your life like this transmutation you are witnessing in these invisible flames? I tried to sit as still as a stone because I knew for certain if I could sit still long enough, the mystery of the universe would open to me right there in the ashes of the fire. I grew impatient. I am not stone. No wonder it takes countless eons...

The mystery of spring arrives.

The mystery of the living sky

The mystery of the Solar eclipse

The mystery of a foggy morning

Why is a rose beautiful? 

I Love the Same Things...

November 9, 2018 from Vera Road

Coming home at sunset on a November night, I stopped to take this photo of the moon. It almost impossible to see the tiny sliver of moon but it is there. In person, it was singularly beautiful.

This is a view I have seen a thousand times since I moved here. Sometimes it is the Evening Star adorning the fading day with a brilliant diamond point, reminding me that Heaven will not be more beautiful to me, I swear. How difficult it will be to leave this earth behind when the time comes...

January 7, 2019 from I-70

I drive my daughter crazy - well, not just my daughter - but she does not understand that the same old things feed my spirit. I will listen to a CD a hundred times, each time falling deeper into the energy and artistry of the music. I am not a musician so I do not hear music the way a musician hears it, I assume. It is like falling into a mandala or sinking into a dream for me. I listen until I can feel exactly what the artist meant. It is the only way to listen to Bob Dylan. I had to get old enough to hear some things in his music. The first time I listened to "Going to Acapulco" I heard he wished he cared more. I guess a good song is like a good painting - you live with it and always find something new in it. The ordinary is anything but ordinary.

I have a deeply held appreciation for the sunset behind the hills in my valley, especially the clear evenings when the long shadows of the hills and the waning light hide the twenty-first century disturbances that erode the natural beauty of this place. The Native Americans lived here for centuries and this valley was untouched in its pristine beauty for all of that time. No so with us.

The slow dimming of the light brings a timelessness to the valley that resonates in my spirit. I love it every time. I always pause, memorizing all of it. The Buddhists say we die and go into the bardo where we await rebirth. Our memories are lost between lifetimes, except for the tiny spark that carries from one lifetime to the next. I do not want to forget these things though I assume it is a mercy that we cannot recall one lifetime to the next. The longing would kill us.